Unfortunate
It was another standard job gone rough. The baker never did like to hand over his “protectionary fees” nicely, so things always had to be done by force, and of course he always had to call up the police department, who called up the Feds when they realized who was on-site. Today, however, was a different day. Not all days are the same, and they shouldn’t be. The forceful members of the Clubhouse sat in their usual cover, behind the counter while those with firearms took potshots, the others staying by the small door to get back behind, stopping anyone from getting past and getting too close or having too free of a shot. However, after sending so many of their own agents and operatives into the meat grinder, even the Feds started to get crafty. They’d bring small ladders or step-stools to aim over the counters, though these usually were taken out rather quickly for their high priorities and lack of their own cover. Today, however, remained a different day. A small stand was quickly placed inside as a new, eager agent quickly dashed up with a small handgun, taking a single shot into the mass behind the counter. A loud bang, followed by a thud. Silence. It took the agent a moment to realize who he hit, before he quickly jumped down and ran outside in a combination of both glee and fear. Behind the counter, the struggling body of the Godfather laid on the ground, trying to cover the wound in his chest with his hand. Rattler had quickly noticed, jumping up from behind the counter and clearing the remaining agents in the restaurant with accuracy and precision they hadn’t seen of him before. They were on the ropes, but they’d be back soon, very soon. The crew needed to act fast. Charles quickly darted out from behind the kitchen’s large doors, picking up the Godfather, oozing black and dark green sludge from his wound. “Cover me, call the van, we’re getting out. Now.” His voice was grim. Being potentially the most capable field doctor they had, the rest knew they had to do exactly as told, or risk taking their first casualty. They quickly and quietly slid into the kitchen, running through the back door out to the alleyway, and jumped in the back of the just-arriving van. Charles, Burf and Niall quickly took him into his office, throwing a blanket atop of his normal one to avoid staining it, pulled his suit off and quickly got to work. Time was running thin, and anesthesia became optional. Burf instead opted to grab a large book from atop his desk and smack him over the head with it, putting the Godfather out like a light. Slowly sliding him open, their mouths followed suit at what they began to witness. They had expected something different within him to explain his cold, dead, inky-black eyes, but nothing like what they had just laid their own eyes upon. Every last part inside of him was a jet black, almost shiny like one, too. The blood vessels ran through, keeping a dark purple in the arteries and a murky green in the veins when returning to his heart. The bullet sat right below it, narrowly avoiding any major vessels or organs. They quickly pulled it out and placed it in a small bag and stitched his chest back into one piece. They stood silently over his resting body while he was still unconscious, until after a few minutes Niall decided to interrupt. “That’s not normal.” “Of course not- observations like that are why you’re my assistant.” Burf huffed, shooting a dirty glare at Niall. “Don’t take the anger out on him. This wasn’t his or any of our fault, and anyway, he’s still..” Charles trailed off before speaking again. “What is he?” “That’s a fantastic question. I’m sure we could cut him open again and find-” “We are NOT cutting him open again, I’m sure a book to the head only lasts so long, anyhow.” “Then what do you suggest?” “We just saved him from Death’s door, didn’t we? I’m sure he can repay us with a bit of information about what the hell we just saw in there.” “And if he doesn’t?” “Then we don’t know what to do next time something bad happens, and when something important is actually hit.” “You know very well he’d retire before something like this happened again.” “And what if it does happen again, anyway?” Burf and Charles stared at each other. “It happened once, it can happen again. I’m sure you’ve seen the same patient more than once for some reason or another, and it’s bound to happen, even with him.” “..Fine. We can ask, but don’t expect very much more.” The three waited for the Godfather to wake up again for another hour. He sharply rose, coughing and clutching his chest were the bullet had gone in, sputtering out in a lack of breath, “Did you catch the filthy motherfucker’s face?” “Later Godfather, we need to-” He quickly jumped to his feet and grabbed Charles by the front of his shirt. “Not later, now. Did you or anyone else see that dirty, rotten fed’s face? I wanna know WHICH rookie thinks he can even try to take a shot at me and get away with-” “Sit. Down. Those stitches are fresh, and unless you’d like to literally come apart at the seams, I’d recommend you sit down and calm down.” The Godfather glared down at him, before stepping back to his bed. “Yes, we caught a glimpse. I’ll give you the details-” “What did he look like?” “..After we get some answers from yourself.” He paused, taking a moment before realizing what had had to be done. “I suppose it’s time I said something, at least to this house. Gather everyone in the parlor, I have an announcement.” After five minutes the Godfather came out with a cane, acting as if it were optional, then leaned against the balcony above the large table in the parlor. Without speaking he simply stood still was a blackness washed over his face. He blinked, and his eyes began to gleam a lavender. “Yeah, big surprise, right? Bet none of you expected me to be less than human. That’s it. Further questions can come to my office, I’ll answer them later. Next job is postponed until Charles says I can do anything physically straining again. If anyone saw the bastard who took the shot, get the person who can draw best and send me a sketch of their face. I have special plans for them. Until then, take a rest, we have enough money to sustain us until we can pick up some more. Ciao.” He retreated back into his office as many of the faces down at the table looked at one another, dumbfounded at what they’d just seen. Surely whatever just happened was a thing of myth, right? They could only lie to themselves, as one-by-one they stepped inside and saw it once again with their own eyes, before wandering back downstairs to enjoy their relaxation time, though with an extra sense of discomfort. By nightfall a sheet was on his desk, a drawing easily identifiable of the rookie who took the shot. He smiled and picked it up, placing it in his suit pocket, still torn in the front. He'd get it fixed later. Not a sound left the Clubhouse, and the Godfather knew it was time to act. He was told to stay in bed, but no one should be allowed to get away with such a heinous act. He snuck through the parlor and left through the front door, keeping his more humane appearance as he crept towards the FBI offices. He became impatient as he remembered getting inside without tripping an alarm, deciding instead to use his claw to cut a hole through and quickly jumped inside. He crept quietly around the offices, looking for IT to discern through the lists of current operatives. After about an hour he made his way to the hub of intelligence within the offices and began to sift through file after file of employed operatives, eventually discovering an uncanny similarity to the drawing in his suit pocket. "Receiving a raise for the assumed elimination of criminal overlord 'Dem Vare'. Didn't know I was that big of a celebrity." He chuckled and looked for an address, shut off the computer and left through the window he entered from. Clink. Clink. Clink. The sound slowly woke up Jonathan from his sleep. He glanced at the clock, 3:39 AM. He groaned and stretched in his bed, then rolled over back in his bed, instead landing face first with a shiny, white grin and beaming lavender eyes. He jumped back in shock, then was quickly pinned down by the Godfather on each corresponding limb. He glanced up at the hole in the suit and began to stutter out, "I- I thought you were.." The Godfather leaned in close enough for breath to be felt from his mouth. "Dead? Not me, sorry. Not today. That's your call for today." He lunged down with his teeth at Jonathan's neck, the last sound of screams filling the night. The next morning the house was investigated for sounds during the night, all seeming well until an investigator entered the bedroom. Strung across the room were various chunks of hanging flesh and parts, organs strewn across the room from ceiling edge to edge. Along each wall was a new message, sprawled in red, jagged writing; TRY IT AGAIN. I DARE YOU. SEE WHAT HAPPENS. SEE WHAT'S HAPPENED. The investigators slowly exited the room, quickly writing their reports then exiting the house. Adkins slammed the papers down on his desk, burying his head in his hands. "The one time.." He sighed and laid his head down. "Bastard." He waved the investigator out of the office, waiting for the door to close, then slung all the papers off his desk, kicked over his chair and stood at the window, looking out longingly. "One more time, please."